Fingers Crossed
by Drunken-Fist
Summary: What would happen if a musician and a bartender met on strange terms?    "The flow of the tones and notes all came together as a peaceful and simple tune, but Dave Strider had never heard anything so damn good in his entire life."    Nothing normal.
1. Piano

It was near silent and dim but the stage had already been set. Ongoers clad in expensive skirts and suits searched endlessly for their nights entertainment in fancy laced chairs.

A young man hidden behind the counter simply rolled his eyes as nimble fingers cleaned the insides of a mug with a tattered rag. His shades hid his lingering eyes under a mop of dirty blonde hair. He 'tsked', the tip of his tongue hissing against his teeth.

It was so typical of people like them.

Suddenly the sound of erupted applause filled the room as a pair of polished shoes began to approach the stage. He didn't even bother to glance up as he heard scrapes of chair against wood.

After about thirty seconds, his hand paused in mid swipe. The flow of the tones and notes all came together as a peaceful and simple tune, but Dave Strider had never heard anything so damn good in his entire life.

It was almost an addicting sound, but at the same time, it let your mind wander.

His interest in the musician quickly rose as he finally looked up, the gleam of the piano even from a distance was easy to spot, reflecting off his shades. Dave found himself even more surprised, that the one playing the piece, looked about the same age as himself.

Tailored in a classic black suit, sat another young man. His eyes were fluttered shut in concentration as his fingers slid easily across the glossy keys of the piano. Despite the clothes, his messy black hair and freckled cheeks gave him almost a goofy sort of appearance. One you would find advertising a kids toy commercial.

Dave wasn't the only one who found himself impressed with the music. Most conversations had ceased when the music began.

When the performance met it's end, everyone was standing out of their seats to applaud. Dave watched from the counter as the man cheekily grinned, standing up from the piano to bow politely. Dave could have sworn he looked his way.

By the time the checkered clock hanging from the wall struck twelve, the room was almost completely cleared. Dave normally would have left for his shitty apartment by now, but his curiosity in this musician caused him to linger. As Dave placed a final glass in it's spot, he heard a voice behind him. "Oh, you're still here?" Dave's attention snapped to the stage as he watched the other close the piano's slick cover. "I thought I was the only one still here, haha." He said with a sheepish smile. He stood up from his spot, and Dave noticed his walk seemed a bit duck-footed.

It didn't take long for the musician to be leaning against the counter, still grinning. "My name's John. What's yours?" He asked. Dave almost found himself wondering, how he could act so damn dorky after playing like that. It was almost unnerving. "Dave." "Well Dave, it's nice to meet you." Dave simply nodded. "Yeah, same."

There was an awkward pause.

"Well anyway Dave, I better get going, it's getting pretty late." John said, pulling on a coat. It struck against the fancy suit but he didn't seem to be bothered by it. Just as he pushed the door open, letting a gush of cold air inside, he glanced back over at Dave. "It's getting kinda late you know.. maybe you should head home soon." He said as he carefully wrapped a scarf around his neck. He sent Dave one last grin. "See ya around, Dave." And with that, he left into the cold.

Dave remained frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot John had been moments ago. He suddenly snapped back into attention, though still in a bit of a daze. He hastily pulled on a jacket of his own, before setting out himself into the late night of December.


	2. Fate

Fate was a funny thing. It could save your ass or fuck you up royally. But in this scenario, Dave wasn't sure which one it did.

Letting his eyes slowly flutter open, he awoke to the sound of someone pounding against the door. With a groggily stumble in his step, Dave found himself getting up from the couch. Clad in boxers and a wrinkled button shirt, it took him a moment to grab for his shades, slipping them on to cover the small bags under his eyes.

It wasn't that he was overworked, not in the least. Dave was in just the position he wanted.. sorta. It was true that he worked at a place for music, which he wanted earlier than he could walk. It was even a night job. But as his turntables began to seem a bit abandoned in a dark corner of his apartment, he couldn't help but secretly hope eventually they will be put to better use.

He turned his attention to the loud knocking, that hadn't stopped since he woke, and quickly slipped on a pair of shorts. As he approached the door, he took the time to remember that someone was coming to share his apartment for a while. Shit. He looked back at the discarded pizza boxes scattered over the kitchen table and x-box games all over the floor. Oh well.

His attention then returned to the frantic knocking. He honestly had no clue who this person was, but hell, he needed a bit of extra cash.

Not bothering to check who was there, he pulled the door open and was met with another surprise.

Standing there in his awkward glory, was John. He looked up and grinned. "Hey there."

"And _then_what happened?" A calm voice asked. "..." "If you don't tell me Dave then I can't help you."

It was a day prior to Dave's encounter with John, and Dave found himself in the welcoming atmosphere of a small coffee shop. Even he would admit the place was nice. If a bit too cutesy as shit for his tastes. Luckily, it was early, and the coffee pots were just firing up for the customers to come. The sun was only so steadily rising behind the stained glass windows.

But it wasn't the dainty drinks or soups that brought Dave here, instead the female that ran the place. Dave shifted ever so slightly in his seat, not even having bothered with taking his coat off he shoved his hands into the over-sized pockets, finding comfort in their warmth. Just recalling all the shit that's happened made him feel like a punk ass preschooler hyped with poprocks. Though obviously, his face showed indifference, something that rarely changed. Shit was better that way.

On the other side on the padded booth, a blonde haired female tapped her carefully manicured fingers against the table. A small sigh escaped her lips as she watched Dave in silence. "Dave, if you don't want to discuss- "I do." She eyed him wearily.

"This isn't funny Dave." "I'm not trying to be Rose." She paused.

"Give me a moment please." She slid away from the booth, disappearing behind a door. As the door flipped closed behind her, you could easily read the bulky font, 'No Customers Allowed'.

It didn't even take her a minute to emerge once more, a small mug careful hands. She returned to her seat across Dave, and her pink lips grew into a small smile. She slid the mug across the table to him.

Dave could smell the scent of hot chocolate from anywhere. And the mug was no exception. Even he couldn't help the slightest twitch of a smile as he pressed his lips to the smooth edge, letting the milky flavor glide past his lips. He gently put the mug back down, meeting Rose' amused gaze.

"Now talk."


End file.
